


Under a Moonlit Sky

by freyjawriter24



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1920s, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), Other, Pre-Relationship, Sensory Overload, They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Whiteley Foster's Jazz Baby DTIYS (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26729182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24/pseuds/freyjawriter24
Summary: The 1920s are a blur of colour and motion and sound, and sometimes that's a little much for a certain angel to deal with. But Crowley's here, and everything's going to be alright.***A last-minute entry to Whiteley Foster's gorgeous DTIYS.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Under a Moonlit Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Jazz Baby DTIYS](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/693790) by Whiteley Foster. 



The party raged from all corners, a cacophony of sensation that was impossible to escape. The music thundered, bursting forth from instruments pushed to their limits and echoing back from every stylish surface. Party-goers shouted to make themselves heard, only adding to the din. And they themselves were loud too - loud to look at. Bright colours, contrasting patterns, dizzying textures. Everything was gold or zig-zagged or tasselled, and the lights were bright to show them off, and there was too much input, too much to see. And it was _hot_ , too, far too hot, and it was lucky he had the choice not to sweat because otherwise he'd be swimming in it, the shirt of his three-piece suit clinging to his skin, forming yet another repulsive sensation to add to the melee. 

Aziraphale fought the urge to cover his ears, fought the increasing desire to cry. Angels did not become overwhelmed like this, it wasn't proper.

But that thought didn't stop it from happening. The air in the place seemed too heavy, not even light enough to use to breathe properly and calm down, and without _air_ , how was he supposed to -

A familiar face suddenly surfaced from the crowd, looking his way. It appeared excited at first, pleased to see him, but almost immediately fell into concern. In a moment, the person was there, at his side, guiding him forwards. 

"Let's get out of here for a bit, hey angel?"

The words were soft on Crowley's tongue, but Aziraphale heard them just fine. He clung mentally to the gentleness of them, to the quiet anchor in the centre of the twenties storm around them both. He let himself be led from the room, and closed his mind off from his surroundings until Crowley let him know it was safe to come back.

They did so in the only still corner of the place, one where the humans had apparently been banished from and the music echoed a little less. There was a doorway here, an opening onto a small balcony, and the demon gestured out onto it.

"We're heading up," they said in a low voice. "Get something solid between us and them, yeah?"

Aziraphale could only nod. He watched as the demon climbed carefully onto the edge of the balcony, tight grip and mastery of miracles preventing them from even the slightest risk of falling, and pulled themself up over the gutter. For a second, the angel was alone again as Crowley disappeared from sight - but it was only for a second. They reappeared again over the edge, offering a hand.

The angel looked at it for a moment. An offer of help, freely given, nothing asked in return. Nothing at all. It was the only coherent thought which broke through the overload, and somehow it was the only thing that made sense right now. 

He moved over to the edge of the balcony and stepped up onto it, careful to use what miracles he could grasp to hold himself in place. Then he looked up into that kind, beautiful face, took Crowley's hand, and trusted them to pull him to safety.

A moment later he was on the roof, the demon's long fingers still in his. They made no comment of the maintained contact, and gestured lightly with their other hand further up the steep roof.

Aziraphale nodded again, and followed Crowley along the edge of the building until they were parallel with a large chimney stack built high and square from out of the gable.

"I'll need both hands for this," the demon said apologetically, squeezing gently. Aziraphale nodded and let go. The cool night air rushed into gap where Crowley's fingers had been, and the sensation was almost too much, in the way that Crowley's hand on his somehow hadn't been. 

The demon waited a moment longer, watching Aziraphale carefully to check he was okay. The angel swallowed, then nodded again, and Crowley gave a soft smile. "Right, watch and learn, angel."

They straightened up and sized up the roof intently. Then in a surge of energy, the demon spirited up the angle of the roof and grabbed onto the corner of the chimney stack, using their momentum and the friction of hands on brick to swing themself over the crest of the roof and balance there, one foot either side of the peak of the tiles. 

The moon was hidden at this angle, but Aziraphale knew that it was full, and the glow of it silhouetted Crowley brilliantly against the sky. The few wisps of cloud were dark against the scattering of stars, and if the angel shifted sideways just a little, a couple of them matched up neatly with Crowley's back in a way that made them look almost like wings. 

"Your turn, angel," Crowley said encouragingly. "Ready when you are."

That was always the case, wasn't it? Crowley was always there, always a step ahead, always ready to catch Aziraphale if he slipped. The demon held out a hand again now, and Aziraphale's already tight throat caught again. _They really are beautiful._

Time passed, though Aziraphale couldn't say how long. Crowley didn't waver, hand still extended in silent encouragement, smile still gentle and kind. The clouds behind them moved with the wind, and the wing effect was gone. The party below was still loud, but the little bit of distance made it bearable. The angel inhaled, held the breath, then sighed it out. He was ready.

The burst of motion was an effort in his corporation's current state, but he made it. Cool brick met one hand and a soft palm clasped the other. He looked up into the demon's face, and his jaw dropped. 

The moon had come into view, perfectly framing Crowley's head. Their hair was set alight by its brightness, a halo of white and red. The gold of their eyes glowed brilliantly in the dark, and now not the clouds but the entire night sky, sparkling and brilliant with all of Crowley's own creations, were their wings.

This, Aziraphale was sure, was as close as he would ever get to seeing how Crowley had looked as an angel. And yet at the same time, he wouldn't change the demon for anything. God herself could sit down next to them and offer to Raise Crowley from Hell, and Aziraphale would say nothing. Even if it was his decision, which it shouldn't be, he wouldn't want to. Crowley was perfect as they were. Demon and all.

The hand in his shifted position, and then he was being pulled to safety and settled down onto the roof. Aziraphale hadn't even realised he'd frozen, but he nodded thanks for the rescue all the same. Crowley nodded in return and sat down opposite, apparently focused on arranging the skirt of their short dress around their legs, but still watching carefully for any sign Aziraphale needed help again.

The angel leaned back against the rough chimney stack and closed his eyes, breathing in the cool air. He was safe now. The sounds of the party were muffled up here, a distant background rather than an overwhelming centrepiece. The dark of the night was gentle on his eyes, too, and without the press of people around him he felt free to breathe. He allowed himself a moment or two of peace, and then attempted, finally, to speak. 

"Thank you, Crowley."

The demon waved a hand lazily. "Don't mention it."

From that moment on, everything felt natural again. Crowley talked easily on light topics until Aziraphale was able to join in again as usual, and then they spoke and laughed together on the rooftop in the light of the full moon, the distant sounds of revelling humans echoing below them, as it often did.

Everything was beautiful. Everything was as it should be.


End file.
